


for the best

by readingquizzicalcats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lonely Remus Lupin, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Pre-Hogwarts, Social Isolation, Werewolf, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingquizzicalcats/pseuds/readingquizzicalcats
Summary: "Hope only wanted what was best for her son, yet every decision came with its own set of consequences. Sure, some consequences were dust-mite-sized. Others came with loneliness and isolation. But she was just doing what was best for her son.Wasn’t she?"A story in which Remus is fed up with rules and Hope ponders the decisions that shape her son's life.
Relationships: Hope Lupin & Lyall Lupin & Remus Lupin, Hope Lupin & Remus Lupin, Hope Lupin/Lyall Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	for the best

It is a fact of life that children will often despise the rules laid down by the adults in their life. They think said regulations are _boring_ or _stupid_ or _make no sense_. Yet these rules are often put in place with the child’s well-being in mind.

For instance, a mother may insist her child makes their bed every morning. Naturally, the child will bemoan this epic waste of time because _honestly, Mum, I’m just going to mess it up again tonight! It’s not like anyone is going to see it!_ And while this may be the case, oftentimes the child doesn’t realize all the benefits that come with the simple act of making one’s bed: by completing this initial task, a person will feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, encouraging them to complete another task, thereby setting the tone for a more productive day. Although the child may be correct about no one else seeing the bed, they themselves have to look at it throughout the day. Making the bed is a straightforward tidying task that makes the room look much neater, causing the occupant to feel less stressed throughout the day (and maybe even encouraging them to extend their cleaning to other parts of the house).

That being said, there is also a major drawback to making the bed: dust mites love to hang around warm environments. Tucked in bedsheets, for example (gross!).

As the child matures, they will choose to either make the bed or not (or possibly fall somewhere in between). But each person also has their own set of circumstances. Maybe one person makes their bed because they have a cat that sheds like mad and given the choice between microscopic mites or itchy cat hair, they’ll take the mites. Maybe another person leaves before their partner each morning and it isn’t up to them. Whatever the now-grown child chooses is irrelevant. The point is that while the rule that they had to make their bed every morning was vexing to their youthful self, they learned about tidiness and dedication to daily tasks.

Now, that being said, the risk of being hurt by making one’s bed every day is very slim. In this instance, the pros outweigh the cons and by making their bed every morning, the child won’t damage their life in any way.

Yet not all parenting decisions are so clear cut. Sometimes parents want what is best for their child and in trying to protect them ultimately hurt them more.

Take the Lupin family for instance.

The Lupins’ nine-year-old son Remus was not allowed to talk to other children. Now at first blush, this seems a horrible rule. Possibly abusive. Yet the Lupin parents--Hope and Lyall their names were--had their reasoning.

See, when Remus was four-years-old he had been infected with lycanthropy. Technically speaking, lycanthropy caused a person to become a dark creature once every lunar cycle. However, it was the widespread belief that werewolves were monsters that could not be contained every day of the lunar cycle. The Lupins knew better--Remus was just as peaceful after The Incident as he was before--but there was little to be said for that. A period of increased dark activity in the local magical underworld had left people wary of anything even remotely related to the dark arts. Besides, werewolves didn’t exactly have the best reputation to begin with. The ministry classified them as XXXXX level beasts, and there were (true) rumors that some werewolves went around biting small children, but much too often the actions of some tend to speak for the group.

Lyall and Hope could only imagine the horrors that would befall their son if the world were to find out of his condition: pitchforks, fire, and silver daggers came to mind, although, really, a mob could certainly be much more creative.

Thus it was imperative that Remus’s secret remain just so.

Unfortunately for the child, this meant he could not socialize with others for Lyall and Hope fretted that he may just let the family secret slip as young children are wont to do. _Really,_ they thought, _it’s for his own good_.

After the bite, the Lupins packed up and booked it out of the small Welsh town where they had been living. They settled into their new home--far, far away--but with some adjustments: Remus no longer attended pre-school and Hope was no longer a working mother, instead staying home to take care of her ill son. Yet the new town only lasted five months. A well-meaning librarian named Doreen whom Hope and Remus had grown rather fond of had inquired after Remus’s health days before the full moon. “Honestly,” she remarked, “it seems he just got over a cold last month. Horrible luck, this one.” Hope had laughed it off but rushed home in a panic to inform Lyall.

“Well,” he sighed, looking much more worn than a man of his early thirties had any business appearing. “We’ll just be more careful not to take him out to the same places so often.”

And so library visits were limited to a quick in-and-out to drop off and check out new books. They could be read at home just as well. And group story-time really wasn’t all that necessary. Remus could live without.

But not long after, Hope and Remus were browsing the cereal aisle in the local market when they were approached by a woman in her early twenties. She introduced herself as a teacher at the local primary school and was wondering if Remus would be joining her Kindergarten class that September. “Oh, no. He’ll be home-schooled,” Hope had informed her and ushered Remus away. Minutes later she was heading to the register, Remus in tow, to pay when she stopped short and listened. The school teacher was recounting their interaction to a woman to whom she referred as “Aunt Doreen”. Then the librarian’s dreaded response: “Poor boy is sickly. Raymond and I were discussing it just the other day. I told him how much I missed seeing him and his mother--lovely woman--in the library. I wonder what it is he has?”

Hope didn’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation. She spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the kitchen while Remus colored at the table. The moment Lyall arrived on the doorstep she accosted him with the day’s events, and with several nifty packing spells, the Lupins were gone within the hour. For the next few months, they were the town mystery. No one knew what had become of them. But in the end, it was forgotten. No relatives or close friends remained behind, and the human mind is fickle enough to drop a puzzle after all leads have been lost.

This was the first of many moves that became somewhat of a pattern. Every time the Lupins heard even the faintest whisper of suspicion, they would drop everything and skip town. They were proactive in keeping the son’s affliction a secret, but it seemed that no matter the measures they took someone was always a step ahead of them, be it a milkman, a nosy neighbor, or a pair of overly-zealous missionaries.

Years passed and the rules imposed upon Remus’s social life--if it could even be called that--grew more and more stringent. Now he was rarely allowed to run errands with Hope. He couldn’t venture outside, let alone beyond the fence, without parental permission. He didn’t talk to anyone other than his parents and his muggle grandparents each Christmas (who Hope justified having somewhat of a relationship with by saying they wouldn’t believe their young grandson if he were to mention lycanthropy anyway). His isolation was almost absolute.

Remus, a happy, talkative toddler, grew into a shy, taciturn child. The constant moving and secrecy made him hyper-aware of the prejudices surrounding his condition. For the most part, nobody knew and he was safe. But over the years a few witches and wizards had found out, and...well, Remus didn’t like to think about _those_ times. As the years passed away Remus became aware of the strain his condition put on his parents and was, for the most part, very obedient because of it. Yet he, just like any other child, had his moments.

This particular day was a Saturday mid-winter. Remus was nine-years-old, and Lyall was home from work. Hope was in the kitchen washing the dishes from breakfast and last night’s dinner while Lyall read the newspaper. Remus was in the living room, his nose pressed against the window.

He was watching as three boys, not much older than himself, raced one another up and down the street, howling with glee each time one of them went skidding over the ice. Remus desperately wanted to be out there with them. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had played with a kid his age, but he knew his parents would never allow it.

His breath was fogging up the glass, and Remus was just about to walk away when the smallest of the kids caught his eye. With a gasp, Remus pulled the curtain shut in front of him. He shouldn’t have been spying. But his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself pulling the curtain back slowly, only to find the boy waving him out.

Remus didn’t think. If he didn’t go now, he might miss his chance. With a quick glance toward the kitchen where his parents were conversing in lively tones, he gestured one moment. Pulling his shoes on, Remus cracked the window to climb out of, not trusting the heavy front door to stay quiet enough to fool his parents. The cool air hit him like a blast--he wasn’t wearing a coat. Silently, he maneuvered his small frame over the sill and landed catlike in the snow. Reaching up, he drew the window shut, and, without pause, began sprinting toward the boys. He was free! He could laugh and talk and play with these boys and by the time his parents realized it would be too late! He was almost there. By now the two larger boys had noticed him as well. The small one aimed a snowball at him--

The door banged open. “Remus!” shouted Hope angrily. Lyall was standing behind her. At his mother’s call, Remus’s steps faltered and he tripped, the snow soaking into his pants. The snowball sailed over him. Disappointment tore through Remus. He locked gazes with Hope, and she pointed at a spot directly in front of her feet. _Now._

With an apologetic glance at the boys--who just shrugged and went about their business as if nothing had happened--Remus trudged back to the door. Hope slammed the door behind him.

“What on Earth were you thinking?” she demanded at the same time as Lyall said, “That was a very poor decision, Remus.”

Remus’s face grew hot. “Easy for you to say,” he spat. “You aren’t always stuck in this house. At least you get to talk to people.”

“Remus!” Hope began seemingly appalled at his outburst, but her objection fell flat as Remus was already half-way up the stairs.

“For once in your life just leave me alone!” he shouted.

A door slammed shut and Remus threw himself onto his bed and dissolved into tears.

Back downstairs Hope made to follow her son, but Lyall put a placating hand on her shoulder. “Give him a minute.”

“But--” Hope objected.

Lyall shook his head. “He just needs his space. When _was_ the last time he left the house?”

Hope sighed. She only wanted what was best for her son, yet every decision came with its own set of consequences. Sure, some consequences were dust-mite-sized. Others came with loneliness and isolation. But she was just doing what was best for her son.

Wasn’t she?


End file.
